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Chapter 11 - Interwoven Fates
When the three torturers arrived, a soft wail of fear rose through Lyral's
gag. Kayleen felt her stomach knot at her friend's despair, but tried to hide
her dread, not wishing to give them any further reason to harm her friend.
Her weakness had wrought Lyral into this bloody nightmare, and she had hid it
to get her own wounds healed, but she was now resolved to amend for it all.
Above her restrained head, Grod's voice asked summarily about the location of
Shandra, just as she expected. She would not answer. She would not fail
another friend. She would endure, this time, to the very end.
"Look at this tiny little morsel," murmured the Southerner while gazing at
Lyral's pearly breasts. He removed her blindfold and dragged her to the
ladder, where he cuffed her hands and feet, impatient to begin, "Maybe you're
more talkative than your friend there, girl. Anyway, our host would like you
to tell him where he could find a Sorceress by the name of Shandra. Would you
like to oblige ?" Lyral shook her head, trembling and closing her eyes.
"I hoped so," said the Southerner mischievously, then wore a pair of leather
gloves and rubbed a bundle of fresh nettles under Lyral's left foot, smiling
in anticipation when she gasped and shrieked in surprise and pain.
Grod and Chang were silently studying the Warrior Queen, still restrained on
the marble table, her renewed body a feast for the eyes, but also a force they
feared. She felt defiant, and was about to insult them, but thought better
not, not while they were on guard. Grod tightened her collar meticulously, and
removed her restraints one limb at a time, cuffing the wrists and the ankles
to the waist band. Only then did he drag her to a bench, her knees chafing on
the stone floor, and cautiously cuffed her wrists and ankles to it.
The cautiousness of her tormentors was of some consolation to the Warrior
Queen, and also tilted the scales of the dilemma she was facing. If she
allowed herself to scream and plead, Lyral might lose heart, but the three
would not lower their guard. She'd have to put on her best show.
Meanwhile, Grod was tightening iron bands on her arms and thighs, then around
her forehead and cheeks, effectively immobilizing her head. The band at her
waist was removed, and she would soon understand why. At the corner of her
vision, Lyral shrieked through her gag when the Southerner rubbed nettles on
her belly, and Kayleen thanked the bands for preventing her from seeing more.
Grod's hands searched Kayleen's nether regions and pushed something cold into
her urethra, painfully distending it while she buckled in her restraints.
Lyral's eyes widened as she saw the burly executioner insert a bronze plug
into her friend's privates, but immediately filled with tears as the old man
rubbed nettles behind her left thigh. Through tears, she saw Grod wheel over a
post, with a large tank hanging from the cross beam.
Tightening Kayleen's collar, Grod managed to forcibly push a spider gag into
her mouth, then produced a linen strip with a knot every inch or so and
dropped it into her forcibly open mouth, causing her to gag to in vain. When
he lowered a pipe from the tank and started pouring water into her immobile
mouth she buckled, wildly straining to escape the pouring water. Panic rose in
her mind as the primal fear of drowning bubbled under her newfound resolve.
She gurgled and sputtered, her soaked blonde hair sticking to her cheeks.
As more and more water was poured, the devious strip was forced down her
throat, growing inside her as it soaked water, and causing Kayleen to gag
spasmodically in order to expel it. Her gurgles and chokes increased, as the
strip had reached her larynx, allowing water to enter her trachea down into
her burning lungs. Lyral cried as the old man rubbed nettles under her
armpits, distracting her from the suffering of her friend.
When Kayleen entered a fit of coughing and turned pale, Grod pulled the strip,
knowing that it had entered her trachea, but did not stop the water, watching
her bulging eyes lose focus as her lungs screamed for air. He poured more
water and let the strip sink further down, the knots now clogging her
esophagus and causing her spasming throat to burn in the combined effort to
expel the intruder and drink the water.
Lyral, in spite of her own predicament, could not help looking at what her
friend was undergoing, unable to clearly understand what caused Kayleen to
gurgle and choke, buckling in her restrains under pitiful fits of coughing and
sputtering. The Southerner, following her gaze, smiled and dragged nettles
under her breasts, obtaining her instant attention and an anguished cry.
Grod pulled out the strip almost all the way, satisfied himself that the white
cloth was pink from watered down blood from her chafed innards, and rose to
resupply the tank. Although not all the water poured into Kayleen's mouth had
been actually ingested, her belly was already visibly distended.
When Grod dropped the strip into her aching mouth and poured more water, her
body started buckling savagely and her gurgles rose in pitch as she tried with
all her forces to expel the heavily salted water, but her tormentor poured
more and more until the strip entered her esophagus again. Kayleen's body
convulsed in her restraints between stifled screams, pitiful gurgles and
repeated fits of coughing as she vainly attempted to expel the knotted strip
while the liquid burned in her throat, lungs and esophagus.
Grod continued pouring more salt water, keeping an eye on her heaving chest
and tormented face, then pulled out the strip and pressed with all his
strength on her distended belly, causing her to expel salt water mixed with
blood in a pitiful gurgle which could not completely hide an anguished scream,
which she stifled with the last ounce of her resolve as she saw him bring the
pipe into her mouth a second time. The torment was repeated a third time, a
fourth time, and then Kayleen lost the count in a watery hell of saline agony.
Lyral cried in despair while the Southerner dragged nettles along her soft ass
cheeks, lingering on the flesh between buttock and thigh, savoring her creamy
body withering in torment, so unlike her blonde friend and yet so enjoyable as
it twisted in its bonds.
"Tell the Master where he can find the Sorceress, girl. You can't hold on
forever. It gets worse from now on," said Grod to Kayleen. No answer came.
When he changed the contents of the tank, her nostrils flared as the acrid
smell of bile reached them. Horror swept over her face at the thought of what
awaited her, but her frantic efforts to shake her head were thwarted by her
restraints and the strip entered her gaping mouth again.
The foul liquid caused her to vomit, but Grod increased the flow and she
started drowning in bile, gagging and choking as the nightmarish liquid burned
bitterly her throat and carried the strip farther and farther down her
scorched esophagus. Her desperate heaves shook the bench and the iron bands
cut deep bruises into her newly pristine flesh, but she was forced to swallow
bile until the strip slowly disappeared down her mouth.
She vomited again when it was slowly extracted, spitting bile and blood as
Grod pressed onto her belly to empty it. When the cloth was dropped into her
mouth again, she closed her eyes in silent despair, sliding into the second of
many cycles of suffocating agony to follow. until she finally passed out.
Kayleen came to with the acrid smell of salts in her nostrils and a funnel in
her stuffed mouth. It was not just a gag any more, but a stuffing of cloth,
felt and some kind of tar, and her anus and vagina also felt stuffed, plugged
watertight as she would soon find out. Three pipes ran from the tank above to
her orifices. She closed her eyes, gathering her will, just as water flowed
from the tank, forcing her to gulp or drown.
Her attempts at drinking the water flowing into her mouth were derailed when a
short braided whip landed across her breasts, taking her by surprise and
wrenching from her a gurgled scream, followed by a fit of coughing and choking
as the water disallowed her from catching her breath, and invaded her lungs.
Another strike of the whip landed under her soles, followed by another on her
front thighs, each spaced apart to allow her ample time to drown herself on
the uninterrupted stream of water.
Water was also flowing into her nether orifices, and her bowels were already
cramping because of the cold water filling them. Grod poured more water into
the tank, bucket by bucket, occasionally whipping her into frenzies of
sputtering, coughing and choking. Her plugged bladder was starting to burn.
Meanwhile, Lyral wept bitter tears as the Southerner kept her arched on the
ladder, nudging her nipples with the hellish nettles so that she had to strain
her muscles to keep the burning leaves from the delicate buds which had never
known pain before this day. "Sooner or later, girl, you'll tire. And I doubt
you have the resilience of your blonde friend. Of course, you might want to
let us know about the Sorceress," cackled her tormentor.
Kayleen's eyes filled with bitter tears as the pain from her belly, bulging
under the amount of water she was ingesting, rose steadily. As more water was
added, her bowels felt like freezing, shot through by cramps from the cold
water, and more and more inflated as her throat frantically gulped the pouring
water to avoid drowning, each occasional failure causing another torturous fit
of sputtering and coughing.
She watched in horror as her belly distended to alarming proportions, like she
was months pregnant, her muscles screaming as she felt about to burst under
the pressure. The water was also painfully distending something within her
womb which ached terribly, although she could not name it. After careful
consideration of her distended abdomen, Grod fetched a hefty wooden club and
with all his might smashed it onto her belly.
The blow sent water back towards her mouth, but was also transmitted all over
her insides, reverberating in a wave of pain which caused her to gurgle and
sputter, her scream stifled by pure force of will. The next blow taxed that
will, and the same did the next, but she managed to hide her pain from her
friend, wishing Lyral could do the same as the Southerner dragged nettles over
her inner thighs, leaving red rashes on the pale skin.
When her belly was forcibly returned to less horrific proportions, the water
pouring uninterruptedly from the tank found its way into her again, and her
eyes widened at the realization that her tormentor had placed salt water in
the tank, and her throat and lungs would soon burn with saline agony as each
repetition would increase the proportion of salt over fresh water.
Lyral could no longer afford the luxury of concerning herself with her friend,
since the Southerner was dragging nettles across her soft breasts, and the
shrill pitch of her young voice echoed under the vaults as if she had been
screaming for both herself and her friend.
As the devilish torment was repeated over and over, Kayleen's newfound
strength was sorely taxed and only her will endured, in spite of the agonies
reverberating inside her when the club landed on her bruised belly. Her bowels
and womb were bursting with water, and she was on the brink of unconsciousness
because of prolonged oxygen deprivation. Her lungs were screaming for air and
her throat was ablaze, and when Grod started over again, she passed out.
She woke up again, the first thing in her ears being Lyral's screams as the
old Southerner was twisting nettles around her friend's nipples. Grod was
tightening a tourniquet around her lower belly, having already placed one on
her waist and another just under her ribcage. The knotted hemp rope bit her
skin already, and the bench had been tilted so that her feet were now about a
foot above her head. Her bladder burned with the urge to relieve herself.
Her bowels and womb had been emptied, but were now being rapidly filled again,
the liquid flowing with much higher pressure from two separate tanks looming
large, well above her feet. Exhausted, Kayleen tried to fight dread as the
growing discomfort in her womb and bowels suggested that it was not ordinary
water that she was being invaded with, but soon she had to fight pain instead,
as her insides started itching and then burning.
When she started twitching, her tormentor opened the tap of the pipe flowing
into the funnel in her mouth, and salt water poured down, compounding the pain
inside her with the renewed torment of her lungs and throat. She gurgled,
unable to drink the saline concoction, and sputtered in fitful buckles of
breathless pain, discovering that the tourniquets were digging into her flesh
as water distended her insides again.
"The water inside your womb is distending it, girl. This is only the
beginning. You'll feel when it bulges, when the tubes burst, and then you'll
expel the water and it starts over again," said Grod quietly.
Two searing nuggets of pain started blazing in Kayleen's womb, feeling as if
the mounting pressure of the scorching liquid was distending some pathway,
forcing its way down channels never meant to sustain such agonies. Her belly
was now pushing against the ropes, the knots digging deep and chafing the
skin, and more water was being poured down her throat as she choked onto it,
each gulp a spasm which sent shivers through her restrained body as her lungs,
more and more compressed as water pushed up her diaphragm, screamed for air.
Most of the liquid was entering from her mouth, in spite of her position, and
soon she found herself coughing to asphyxiation as water seemed to fill her up
completely, gushing in her windpipe. Her muscles pushed helplessly against the
ropes, attempting to gulp down more water, but this only increased her pain as
her compressed belly bulged through the deeply set ropes.
When her face turned blue, Grod removed the funnel and started tightening the
tourniquets, sending her into coughing fits of agony as the water was forcibly
expelled from her mouth in desperate bursts. Out of her mind in pain and fear,
Kayleen was prevented from screaming only by the gushes of water and fits of
coughing, because her insides were still experiencing the unrelenting pressure
and now the nuggets of pain in her womb were blazing in agony from the tight
constriction of the tourniquet.
As her stomach was emptied, allowing her the breath of air she craved, it let
some room for more water to press into her bowels and womb, increasing the
unrelenting pain from her insides. Ignoring the suffering in Kayleen's teary
blue eyes, her tormentor pushed the pipe into the funnel again. The foul taste
of salt water caused her to retch, the vomit unable to escape the throat and
mixing with the downpouring liquid as she sunk again in the watery hell.
Lyral twitched on the ladder while the Southerner laughed at her screams of
fear and pain, teasing her "You sing like a summer bird, My Pearl! If some
nettles are all it takes to hear you sing, what are we going to hear when we
start with some real torture ?"
Over the subsequent iterations of the torment, Kayleen almost cursed the
renewed endurance and strength brought by her healing at Lyral's hands, as she
had to endure them one by one, the salt water scorching her womb and pressing
into her uterus and tubes with unrelenting, mounting pain each time more water
was pressed in, until finally she lost consciousness.
Kayleen came to while the Easterner was cuffing her elbows together, bending
her arms over a beam crossing the top of a wooden post she remembered with
dread. He pulled her arms down until he could cuff her wrists to the back of a
wedge pushing into her lower back, arching her body outwards. Her legs were
doubled over and bent painfully outwards at the knee, the ankles cuffed wide
apart to another cross beam.
The pain of her restraint and even the bruises on her belly were nothing in
the aftermath of her previous ordeal, as her insides from throat to womb still
burned and throbbed, while the collar tightened by the cautious Easterner did
not allow her to breathe normally and even drink some of the contents of the
jug offered to her, the burn in her throat stronger than her sense. Yet, as
her gaze focused, her eyes widened in dread at the sight of the implements
heating in a brazier before her.
Once she had been secured, the wry Easterner loosened her collar and wore
thick gloves, which allowed him to pick up a thin, red hot steel needle and
push it into her left thigh, its sizzle covered from a scream she managed to
turn into an agonized breath drawn through clenched teeth. A cold needle
pierced her other thigh next, followed by another red hot needle in her
distended calf.
Her tormentor alternated cold needles and red hot needles, each causing her to
writhe in agony while attempting to stifle her screams, pausing between each
to let her experience the pain in full. Her ears picked up screams which were
not her own, and her tormented gaze fixed on the pale flesh of Lyral, pulled
tight on the rack by Grod. For a moment, her horror at the thought of the
innocent girl suffering the agonies of the rack overcame even the pain of the
needles, but her call of "Lyral" turned into a scream when her tormentor
pinched her belly and pushed a red hot needle through her flesh.
The call caused Lyral's gaze to focus on Kayleen's twitching form, sending her
further into despair at the sight of her friend's tormented face while the
Easterner pushed tiny hot needles in her tender soles, each causing her to
stiffen, twist her visage in the effort to resist the pain and buckle wildly
in her restraints. When her head hung, she was doused with cold water.
Kayleen could not keep her eyes on Lyral's distended limbs as Grod cranked
back the rack, just like he had done with her, sending the atrocious pain of
sudden release through her limbs, because her own tormentor pushed a red hot
needle under her left toenail. Dread combined with pain behind her mounting
scream, which left her lips as a tormented hiss, as this rekindled the
memories of her past ordeals and signaled the start of the assault on her toes
and fingers.
The assault followed, and brought her down untraveled roads of mounting pain
as needles were also driven in the soft flesh between fingers, while each nail
was tormented by either a red hot or a cold needle, which turned out to be
barbed when he pulled out one to replace it with a red hot one. So another
cruel pain was visited on her as each cold needle was bloodily pulled out and
replaced by a red hot one.
When he started pushing needles into her torso and chest, Kayleen let out a
stifled scream as dread as the recollection of past ordeals overcame her, but
her tormentor continued slowly pushing cold and hot needles into her writhing
form. After her back, his attentions lingered on her ass cheeks, which needle
after needle he turned into a bloody pincushion.
Kayleen, in spite of herself, trembled when the wry Easterner looped a thin
silk cord around her left breast, followed by another around her right breast,
tightening them until her mounds turned into turgid globes of taut flesh. When
the first needle, a cold barbed one, was pushed into her flesh, it took all
her newfound resolve to stifle a scream which would have risen up in the
vaults of the chamber, just as the garbled screams from the stretched Lyral
rose as she trembled under the pull of the rack.
Slowly, the Easterner pushed more cold needles into each globe, delaying his
recourse to the red hot ones to bring her to the ultimate brink of agony
before sending her down a new level of torment. After pushing a needle into
each nipple in spite of her spasms and jerks, he pulled out the very first
needle inserted into each breast, slowly, the barbed tip tracing a searing hot
trail of agony through her flesh which the subsequent insertion of a short,
red hot needle in the same spot reopened immediately, dragging Kayleen into in
a nightmare of gasps, hisses and burnt flesh from which no respite was allowed
until much later, when her breasts were so thick in short needles, most
already cooled off, that her tormentor found awkward to insert any new ones.
She was released from her restraints, her body still brimming in needles, and
made to drink again, the pause allowing her to hear again the desperate cries
from the rack where Lyral quivered as Grod cranked her yet another notch, her
neck and mouth distended in a drawn out cry of unspeakable agony.
Her breath constricted by the collar, Kayleen was pulled up by her ankles
cuffed to chains from the ceiling, then the Easterner doubled her at the
waist, pulling her arms to her front between her splayed thighs until, helping
himself with a boot on her crotch, he managed to pull them forward enough to
bend her elbows under her knees and tie her wrist cuffs behind her back to a
rope, which he proceeded to shorten until he could cuff her wrists to each
other.
Kayleen's bent position exposed the tendermost part of her athletic body while
pushing the needles all the way down into her compressed breasts, bringing new
tears to her contorted visage. Just hanging there would have been torture
enough, but her tormentor pinched a fold of soft flesh from under her left
thigh and started piercing it with fine, red hot needles, so fine that he
could push dozen in the folded flesh in the grip of his leather glove. The
nonstop torment caused her to gasp and hiss, her breathing a wheeze as her
body glistened in perspiration, which mixed with the crimson rivulets of blood
and the smell of burnt flesh as the sizzling mixed with her stifled screams.
The fine needles caused little blood loss, the wound cauterizing as it formed,
but kept her in searing pain far longer, compounding the stabbing from her
breasts which got rekindled upon each jerk with the agony of burnt flesh. His
hands gripped the now exposed crease between buttock and thigh, repeatedly,
first left then right, slowly pushing needle after needle through the soft
flesh in a trail of agony which reverberated on her contorting face as she
strove to keep her anguish from bursting in screams.
Her tormentor's hand pinched a fold of flesh under her thigh, and a new pain
seared through her as the first hot needle pierced it, while Lyral's agonies
on the rack echoed through the room drowning her stifled gasps and the
occasional cries escaping her clenched teeth. With leisurely relentlessness,
the Easterner pushed more and more of the accursed needles through her thighs
and calves, drawing a canvas of agony on her slender, exposed limbs as a
prelude of the worst to come and splashing her occasionally with cold water.
Lyral's cries rose to a pitch as the rack pulled her taut, and then waned as
she passed out. Grod suspended her torture and slowly cranked her distended
body back to normal, inspecting her pale limbs for signs of dislocation.
Kayleen's mind wandered in a hell of searing pain and burnt flesh, attempting
to escape what she reckoned would follow. Within her, the dread of the torment
in her feminine regions grew needle after needle, her shame deep at being
unable to face the specific pain with the same bravery she exhibited in
combat.
A wail of despair grew behind her teeth when the Easterner pushed the first
needle through her left cunt lip, followed by the first actual scream of the
day, although promptly stifled, when the next pierced the rim of her vagina.
In her restraints, she could barely writhe as each needle was pushed through
her cunt lips, the tips fiendishly pointing inwards as the heat seared her
feminine flesh. In spite of the unrelenting agony, she managed to stifle her
screams yet again, buttressing her resolve on the pitiful shrieks escaping
Lyral's gagged mouth under the unrelenting pull of the rack.
In spite of the needles in her ass cheeks, the wry Easterner returned his
attentions to her buttocks, but focused on the rim of her sphincter, piercing
the tender flesh with more of the fine, red hot needles, driven through the
muscle parallel to the surface. Instead of sinking into the flesh, endangering
blood vessels, the needles dug through one, one and a half inch of muscle and
then emerged, the tip ready to cause further agonies on each jerk and twist of
her tormented body.
To Kayleen's dismay, however, the torment of her sphincter was just a break in
the assault on her femininity, because the Easterner pulled open her cunt lips
and pinched them to her inner thighs with more fine, red hot needles, ignoring
the blood trickling on each jerk and her anguished hisses as each needle
caused her head to shake in unspeakable agony.
When he pulled open the folds of her clitoris and pierced the left one with
another red hot needle, Kayleen's body stiffened before shuddering in a long,
drawn out breath of sibilant agony which she renewed when another needle
seared the flesh of the right fold, exposing her love button as more needles
stitched the folds to her flesh.
"Tell where Sorceress is," said her tormentor, dousing her with cold water
after waiting for her answer, "More pain now".
More needles were driven in the muscle at the entrance of her love channel, in
the fashion used on her sphincter, the tips still hot sizzling on contact with
the dry wall after piercing the fleshy rim, each a stab of unremitting agony
which shook through her hung body, bubbling into a scream which she refused to
let out of her mouth as her face contorted in untold agony.
Her resolve staggered when a red hot needle was pushed into her clitoris, her
mouth opening in a helpless, silent cry before closing under pure force of
will as the smell of burnt flesh rose again to her nostrils and the needle was
pulled out. Even Lyral, stretched on the rack, turned her head when the next
was placed on her love bud, the tip burning into the flesh, but was held firm
instead of pushing it in, until her tormentor's finger forcibly pulled it,
slowly elongating it into the atrocious burning needle, sliding it in one
hairsplit at a time while Kayleen's hisses and gasps rose in pitch and her
shaking blonde mane revealed her unspeakable suffering, which was repeated
until her tormentor had to admit to himself that there was no longer room on
her tormented feminine flesh for more needles.
Her tormentor removed swiftly the mostly cooled needles from her, ignoring the
occasional drops of blood as most wounds had been cauterized by the heat, and
then lowered her on the floor, releasing her from her restrained position only
with precautions far beyond what Kayleen's trembling body would suggest.
After a litany of pitched screams, Lyral passed out again, unable to withstand
the pull of the rack. Grod tried reviving her with cold water, without
releasing her, but she woke up between screams and passed out again when he
cranked her another notch.
The Easterner cuffed Kayleen's elbows and wrists together, fastening the
latter to a ring, then cuffed her ankles to a six foot steel bar, spreading
her legs wide and adding iron bands at the knee and thigh before pulling up
the bar using another chain from the ceiling, her body arching as her hips
were pulled above her head while her arms were twisted in their sockets.
The Easterner moved to the brazier and verified the implements heating there,
oblivious to the dread mounting in his victim as she strove to look inside,
and to the despair echoing in the room as Lyral shouted her lungs out while
her limbs were stretched again on the rack. Kayleen closed her eyes, praying
softly to herself, as her tormentor pulled from the coals a red hot four-inch
skewer, bringing the forked tip near her restrained arms.
Her body stiffened and then exploded in a frenzy of buckling and shaking as
the skewer pierced her flesh, its sizzle drowning in her desperate hiss of
agonized despair, the first herald of the screams crowding in her throat. The
pain was far worse than what she had withstood so far, because the searing
tips reached to the bone and scraped it inside her burnt flesh.
After her pain subsided, her tormentor inserted another skewer into her arm,
sliding it slowly along the muscle instead of stabbing down, the pain mounting
unrelentingly as her throat burned with bile and her jaw ached as she tried to
keep her howls from breaking out. One after the other, he also skewered her
forearms, in spite of her frantic buckling and spasmodic jerks.
Next were her fingers, again, but on an unprecedented level of agony as a
short skewer was slid into her first finger, scraping the small bone in the
first agonizing step of a descent in hells she had not visited yet, as each
finger and toe was slowly subjected to the agonizing treatment. Her throat was
sore and burned with puke, her eyes had shed all her tears, and the cries of
Lyral were distant echoes of her own suffering as the skewer slid into her
last toe, her leg convulsing along its entire length as she managed to stifle
an agonized howl, clinging to her determination because it was the only thing
left she could cling to before sinking in an ocean of pain.
The skewering of her long, supple legs with long, searing hot needles which
bent inside her muscle as he pushed the tip into her bones dragged her further
into that ocean of pain, sending new waves of agony bellowing behind her
clenched teeth and crashing on her resolve with the unrelenting, excruciating
agony of searing hot metal. During a brief instant of respite, she heard
Lyral's garbled voice cry "I won't talk! Oh, Kayleen, I won't fail you."
In her torment, her friend's words were a stab at her heart but also a much
needed source of new resolve, just as the impassive Easterner pulled a six
inch skewer from the brazier and inserted it under her left breast, dragging
the forked, red hot tip inside her, scraping one rib after the other as she
twitched and buckled, bile rising into her mouth and fanning the blazes of
more agonized howls, her hisses now so desperate and frothing that they would
count as screams to anybody but her, rekindled by a bucket of cold water.
After repeatedly skewering her breasts, the wounds bleeding moderately as the
heat cauterized them as they formed, her tormentor allowed her a pause and let
her drink from the jug, the liquid clearing her mind and bringing new strength
to her pain-wracked body. That strength was soon taxed when he slid short
skewers onto her ribs, causing more gasps and hisses to issue from her
clenched mouth, and even more when he skewered the sides of her breasts to
bring the tips to slide on her sternum in yet another nightmare of pain and
burnt flesh, which he protracted until her hisses waned into wheezing sobs.
But instead of releasing her, he brought the jug to her lips again and then
pushed another hot skewer into her crotch, piercing her left cunt lip and
scraping the tip onto the pubic bone, her desperate cries gurgling behind the
dam of her resolve as she stifled them into hisses. Her tormentor fetched a
short skewer and slid it into the soft flesh between her anus and vagina,
followed by another as she spat and gurgled in unspeakable agony.
Slowly, he pushed a longer skewer through the whole length of her right cunt
lip, sliding it over her pubic bone, the twin tip scraping it on each jerk and
twitch of her tormented body. Drool frothed at her mouth, which opened in a
rasping, silent scream when another skewer was slid into her vulva, sizzling
her small lip and the vaginal wall before scraping bone as she jerked in
renewed agony and gasped desperately.
Instead of continuing, her tormentor paused to bring a sloping bench under her
belly, raise it until she leaned on the wood and then fasten the bands at her
thighs and waist to it. Out of her mind with pain, Kayleen enjoyed her brief
respite, unaware that he just wanted her restrained for further torment.
He took care to heat the next skewer until it turned bright red, then pushed
it into the lower rim of her vagina, piercing it on the left and then on the
right, stitching the sides together while the sizzling heat caused wisps of
smoke and her body shuddered in unbridled agony and her mouth twisted her
features as she desperately clenched her howls behind her gritting teeth.
When Kayleen's twitches subsided, he slowly slid another skewer through the
upper rim, piercing its walls and stitching it close while her contorted face
trembled under the effort to stifle the scream mounting in her throat as the
twin tip scratched bone again. Her mouth opened in gasps and hisses when
another thin, bright red skewer was driven through her swollen lips and under
her clitoris, with his fingers pulling and bending the bud so that instead of
piercing through, the needle traversed the full length of its underside
stitching it to her mons before entering the flesh above and joining the
others in scraping her pubic bone as she trembled in agony.
With the sizzling needles in place, her tormentor used both gloved hands to
skitter two or even all three at the same time into her bone, pulling them out
a bit to drive them in from a different angle, plunging Kayleen into
unexplored depths of uninterrupted agony. Her gasps, hisses and gurgles rose
almost on par with the pitiful cries from the racked young body of her friend
Lyral, and lasted until the skewers cooled off.
As she was released, she heard Lyral's hysterical sobs as the Easterner
approached her, while Grod treated her wounds and the jug brought new strength
to her parched lips. The thought of asking Lyral about what was in the jug
coursed briefly through the pain wracked paths of her mind, losing itself in
dread when she realized that it was now the Southerner's turn, and he was
ogling her body while poring over a small collection of knives and blades.
Unable to avert her teary gaze, she lingered in horror on the implements. Most
had been built from bone, some gleaming new and some yellowish, or reddish,
she shuddered. These were not blades designed to dispatch an opponent, quite
the opposite, they were short and poorly honed to cause shallow wounds.
Meanwhile, the Easterner was tightening a tourniquet around Lyral's waist, her
sobbing eyes awaiting the impending pain, and Kayleen saw in her friend's
countenance all the weight of the ordeals wrought upon her young, frail body,
her limited strength spent, her endurance consumed already, a nightmare of
pain unlike anything she had ever sustained in her formerly sheltered life.
Kayleen paid little heed when the Southerner dragged her to a platform, made
her kneel on it and cuffed her ankles wide apart, forcing her to open her
thighs painfully wide under her own weight. Her eyes sought Lyral's eyes, now
shut in pain as she screamed under the tightening grip of the tourniquet, and
ignored the Southerner cuffing her wrists above her head to a chain hanging
from the ceiling. But when the swarthy old man fetched a yellowish, cracked
bone blade and pushed it into her left shoulder blade, her attention returned
to her predicament and a scream escaped her lips before she could stifle it.
Grinning, her tormentor pushed the blade further down, tracing a jagged wound
in her muscular back. Although he had stayed clear of major blood vessels, the
wound bled immediately, yet he followed up with another cut into her right
forearm, along the muscle, her own jerks and twitches trashing the blade
inside the wound as she gasped and hissed in agony.
"Oh my, who would have guessed that a little knife would cause Your
Haughtiness such discomfort ? I thought you were a proud warrior," mocked her
tormentor, cutting into her muscle.
The cut of blades in battle she knew already, and it hurt, but this was
nothing of the sort, this was devilish torment, and dread mounted in her as
her horrid experiences allowed her to recognize these first cuts as just
preliminaries. She closed her eyes as his fingers traced and probed the place
where he would stab and cut her next, and soon her anguished intakes of breath
could be heard almost as clearly as Lyral's screams of despair, while blood
oozed lazily from her cut flesh.
After a dozen cuts, all delivered with excruciating slowness while pressing
the dull blade on the skin to cause its uneven edge to cut jagged gashes, the
old man protracted the pause between a cut and the next, watching her bleed
before making her drink again and treating the cuts, smearing a thick paste
which slowed the blood flow somehow, and stitching them summarily.
Lyral screamed in uninterrupted agony as the Easterner tightened the grip on
her fingers, her soaked body trembling in fear between a turn of the
tourniquet and the next. Tears streaked her pale face, and after crying her
lungs out she passed out and had to be revived with cold water.
The Southerner placed his finger on Kayleen's left calf and then pushed the
blade into the flesh, dragging it slowly along the length of the leg as she
twitched and hissed, turning her head under the foolish compulsion to watch
the blade dig into her. The yellowish white blade was crimson with blood, and
the edge was dull enough to require considerable force to cut through muscle,
tracing shallow creeks of crimson through her flesh as the howls she wanted to
suppress crowded behind her clenched teeth.
"You could still entertain us with news about that Sorceress," said the
Southerner, dousing her with cold water while she clenched her lips.
With time, Kayleen's and Lyral's bodies started looking similar, both crossed
by reddish lines, but while Lyral's where but rashes and chafed skin,
Kayleen's were ugly, bleeding gashes, although the occasional treatment
reduced blood loss. While Lyral screamed with abandon through her gag as the
Easterner tightened a tourniquet on her left breast, Kayleen managed to just
hiss, gasp and buckle as the Southerner pushed the blade under the nail of her
left ring finger, compounding the torment of her hands already bleeding from
the cuts in the soft flesh between the fingers.
But the true measure of the difference in the torments became obvious in the
comparison between Lyral's tear streaked visage and Kayleen's contorted mask
of agony, as the Southerner dragged the blade on the tender sole of her left
foot, and then pushed it under the nail of her big toe as she jerked her head
back, her mouth open in a silent, drawn out scream at the indifferent vaults
of the torture chamber.
Even Lyral, in the pauses her tormentor dispensed lest she passed out too
often, watched with horror between her own tears when the Southerner stabbed
the soft flesh inside Lyral's thighs, pulling the blade up and lifting her
from her kneeling position at blade point while blood flowed slowly, and she
gasped through fits of unspeakable pain, still clinging to her resolve as the
howls she refused to let out resonated in her chest.
When her leering tormentor sunk his blade under her breast, she screamed
briefly, a lapse which was followed by a long, agonized breath as the blade
cut her flesh, but which did not repeat when he stabbed her other breast.
Stymied, the swarthy Southerner gripped it and pushed the blade into the soft
underside, enjoying her eyes clenching in agony, but unable to exact another
scream from her in spite of the repeated gashes slowly dug in the pulsating
flesh of his trembling victim, wet from occasional buckets of cold water.
Undaunted, he gripped her left nipple between two fingers and started dragging
the blade along its length, careful to scrape rather than cut, first pulling
away from the breast, then turning the blade down through the tip of the
delectable flesh and then reversing the cut along the underside of the wounded
nub. Kayleen's hisses rose to a feverish pitch while he ravaged her nipple,
and she gasped and shook her head to no avail. When he moved to her other
nipple, her jerks and twitches prevented him from achieving a clear wound, but
not from trying repeatedly, so her right breast slowly became a canvas of
bleeding pain drawn in stifled screams and agonized jerks.
The Easterner resumed Lyral's torture by tightening a tourniquet around her
plump left breast, causing the girl to tremble and shriek in dread, trashing
in her restraints at the prospect of more pain.
"Your friend does not seem to like Chang's attentions, Whore Queen. I fancy
laying my hands on her again. Later," said the old Southerner.
Smiling, he brought the blade on her crotch and traced with his fingers the
contour of her cunt lips, enjoying her jerks and spasmodic attempts at turning
the blade, which littered her privates with small cuts of her own doing. When
she stopped jerking, not buying into his little game any more or just
exhausted, he placed the blade on the muscle around her vagina and cut,
smiling at the tormented hiss which shook her splendid body.
After repeatedly cutting the rim of her love channel, and its walls in places,
her tormentor disrobed and smiled before pushing her down on her back,
penetrating her wounded sex on the platform in short, rutting thrusts, each
one sending blazing pain through her bleeding body as she barely managed to
deprive her tormentor at least of the satisfaction of hearing her scream.
Lyral instead screamed and howled as the Easterner tightened the tourniquet on
her breast, and passed out again when the pain became unbearable. She was
revived with smelling salts, and started sobbing immediately, crying and
quivering when her tormentor tightened the rope again.
Exhausted, Kayleen drank blindly from the jug offered to her while they
treated her wounds, none deep enough to endanger her life but so many that she
would be unlikely to survive. In the haze of unprecedented pain, she thought
that her tormentors had picked Lyral as the one which could be scared into
talking, and as such no longer needed restraint in torturing her.
She ignored the Southerner when he cuffed her elbows together and pulled
painfully her arms from under her back, fastening her wrist cuffs to the
platform and forcing her to arch her back and push her hips up in the air,
exposing her wounded crotch. Her collar was fastened to the platform, and only
when the Southerner tried to force a spider gag into her mouth did she mount a
feeble attempt at resisting, which he tried to stifle by twisting her wounded
nipples in the vain hope of forcing her to accept it. It was Grod who
tightened her collar, until she went blank from lack of oxygen and the gag
could be forced in when she was allowed to breathe.
The old Southerner straddled her head and fetched a different knife, the blade
apparently the fish-bone of a large fish, which he examined at length before
pushing it into one of the gashing wounds he had cut on her slender thigh,
cutting her agonized scream short by pushing his flaccid member into her
throat and enjoying her gurgling and coughing.
"Now I am going to reap the reward of all this hard work", he whispered.
Lyral, who had been allowed to see the scene, closed her eyes in horror, but
could not close her ears as the laughing Southerner slowly dragged the blade
through the wound in her thigh, reopening it while Kayleen's muffled screams
surged through her stuffed mouth. He waited until her cries subsided, then
stabbed another wound on her other thigh, pushing encrusted blood aside and
drawing fresh blood and fresh howls of unbridled torment from his victim.
The small blade visited many other wounds, each one a new fountain of agony on
her tormented body which oozed fresh blood until her tormentor cared to
staunch it again. Now that she was tightly restrained, however, he could use
it to carry through his original intent, so he brought the blade against her
right breast and started tracing the contour of her areola, cutting a red line
around it with the tip as she shouted into his already hardening member.
He pinched her right nipple, pulled it out and traced its entire length with
the blade, outwards, around and backwards, so enjoying her jerks and cries
that he immediately repeated the feat on her other nipple, reopening the cut
he had been so proud of. Kayleen screamed into his member, repeatedly, feeding
his arousal as he tormented her wounded breasts, protracting her agonies until
her cries brought him to come into her mouth.
Lyral was spared the sight of her friend's violation, because she had fainted
again while the Easterner tightened the tourniquet on her heaving chest and
was taking longer than before to revive.
Spent, the swarthy Southerner poured more syrup into Kayleen's choking mouth
and summarily treated her wounds, then moved between her legs and placed the
tip on her mons, pushing the blade into the flesh between her pubic hair in a
short, shallow cut, wrenching a short cry from Kayleen's sore throat. He
followed up with a second and a third, observing the three form a bloody
triangle on her mons. With his other hand, he grabbed the curls of blonde hair
and pulled, drawing a pitched shriek of inhuman agony from the trembling
Kayleen as the pulled hair slowly wrenched away the triangle of skin.
"I guess you're not going to tell us about the Sorceress," he mocked. When her
cries subsided, he cut another triangle in her bush and pulled it away also,
just like the subsequent ones, smiling as each little scalp brought new howls
of unbridled agony from his twitching victim, savoring each one as Lyral
watched in horror, unable to avert her gaze, almost forgetting the tourniquet
being tightened around her chest.
The Southerner protracted the flaying of Kayleen's mons long enough to achieve
another arousal, and when his member hardened he interrupted it and penetrated
her, grunting as he viciously pushed into her torn sex, enjoying her fitful
jerks when he brushed the flayed flesh. On each thrust, her cries rose through
the gag under the vaults of the chamber, and turned into anguished howls when
he stopped just before coming, pulled out and ejaculated on the raw flesh.
After catching his breath, he resumed the flaying of her pubic area, and when
nearly done stopped to consume something he had prepared, smiling as Kayleen's
eyes widened in recognition. In a few minutes his member hardened, and
penetrated her in a rutting frenzy of vicious cruelty, pulling out at the last
moment and spraying his salty semen on her to compound her torment again.
Kayleen cried aloud in despair when he thrust into her yet again, and
withstood his third assault howling to high heaven, but on the fourth time her
eyes glazed over and, in spite of the drugs, she passed out.
She returned to the hell she had just left with the strong smell of salts in
her nostrils, hanging upside down with her legs painfully spread wide and her
arms bound in a reverse prayer position behind her back. The Southerner
cackled at the thought of how this position, intended to curtail blood loss,
exposed her sex, and tightened an iron band around her waist to prevent her
from jerking around too much. More cold water was splashed on her.
The Easterner had also started to douse Lyral regularly, attempting to keep
her awake while he tightened the tourniquet on her chest while she screamed at
the top of her lungs.
The Southerner also closed tight bands around Kayleen's knees and thighs, and
finally screwed two iron rings tight around her breasts, wrenching new screams
from her sore throat as her wounds reopened. He fetched both the dull and the
thin blade and started cutting the sole of her left foot, the thin blade
following directly into the gash dug by the large one, delighted as he could
at last enjoy her howls of agony as they were meant to be heard.
When her screams subsided, he smeared some paste on the gash and then
rekindled her pain by clipping together the edges with small, vicious clamps,
staunching the loss of blood while plunging her another step down the
staircases of agony. The clamps were too small to allow for a spring, so he
had to tighten them using pliers. Immensely satisfied with his own cleverness,
he started clipping the bleeding wounds on her breasts, savoring her pitiful
screams as each clamp dug into her quivering flesh.
"Now, now, we don't want too much spilled blood, do we ? Unless our Whore
Queen changed her mind, I mean. Too much spilled blood means we have to stop,
and we still don't know where this Sorceress is," mused the Southerner.
Having contained blood loss for the time being, he proceeded to dig red lines
of agony through Kayleen's slender legs, protracting her torment by pausing
often, then moved to her buttocks and started cutting across the existing
wounds, lingering on the soft underside near her thighs and in the crease
between the cheeks. Each time, once her cries subsided, he clipped the wound
dutifully. Later, he delighted when her screams rose to new heights as he
scraped her ribs to the bone under Lyral's horrified eyes.
Leaving her ribs to bleed, he slowly traced a few lines of crimson agony
through her muscular abdomen, clipping each shut meticulously before starting
another, then reached for her breasts. He pushed the dull blade into the
quivering flesh, dragging the thin blade back and forth as she howled in pain
and wheezed, short of breath as each scream caused further pain from her ribs.
He briefly paused her torment to smear her nipples with the yellow brown
paste, but soon resumed, tracing another deep gash in her firm breast, as if
drawing in each a star of red lines pointing to the nipple. Her screams were
now hoarse, wheezing, but she twitched and jerked in agony whenever the blade
bit her flesh, so he slowly protracted her torment until her nipples swelled.
He pinched one, savoring her cry as the wound reopened and dread rose within
her, pulled it and traced the dull blade outwards, around the tip and
backwards on the underside, proud of his technique and enjoying her spasmodic
jerks, inhuman cries and pain-wracked visage. She was now properly restrained,
and he was able to repeat the hideous torment on her right nipple, slowly
savoring her hellish cries. Noticing that she was starting to lose it, he put
the jug at her mouth and pulled her head up in order to let her drink.
Lyral was still screaming her lungs out, her wet body writhing as her plump
pale breasts turned crimson under the grip of her tormentor's tourniquet. Her
parched cherry lips stood out in her pale, contorted visage as she drowned in
unprecedented pain and misery. The Southerner called at her, "Look, girl,
watch as I carve open Your Haughtiness here. Maybe I can find what she's so
full of. Just remember you're next."
Kayleen's newfound strength was immediately taxed as her tormentor brought the
dull blade on the soft flesh of her inner thigh and dug another line of
bleeding agony in it, cutting across her previous wounds and protracting the
torment while avoiding major blood vessels. Her cries rose shrill when he
clipped the wound, and rose even more when he cut her tender flesh again.
After tormenting her thighs, he returned to her swollen nipples, fetching two
elongated bronze clamps which he clipped along the length of the left nipple,
on the edges of his previous cut. When both nipples were so clipped, his hands
both free, he plunged Kayleen into yet another level of horrific agony by
tracing a new gash along the full length of each nipple with the dull blade,
back and forth, the thin blade following immediately inside the throbbing
wound as she bellowed in nightmarish pain, consuming her voice in hopeless
howls of utter despair as he protracted the gouging of her feminine flesh.
She was given a brief pause and more syrup, but her screams soon rose again
when the wound was clipped and he traced another line of hellish agony in the
tender flesh between anus and vulva, clipping it quickly in impatience at what
he had in mind next and dousing her with more cold water.
After reviving her yet again, the Easterner released Lyral from the
tourniquet, letting her hang in tears and watch the torment of her friend.
The Southerner started cutting Kayleen's cunt lips, first one then the other,
slowly dragging the dull blade along their length and following up with the
thin blade as she buckled so spasmodically that he cut himself once. When her
desperate howls subsided, he smeared her clitoris with the brown paste,
smiling in anticipation while she cried in dread.
He traced another gash to the left of her cunt lips, and another to the right,
then started practicing shallow perpendicular cuts on the edges of her cunt
lips, pulling them open and clipping each against the outer edge of the gashes
on each side, while Kayleen's maddened cries echoed in the torture chamber.
Slowly, he did the same with the folds of her clitoris, pulling them open and
clamping their bleeding cuts, revealing her swollen nub of feminine flesh.
He pulled it out and traced its length with the dull blade, savoring her cries
and twitches as he practiced the same technique he had visited on her nipples,
pausing often to let her catch enough breath to renew her cries between a fit
of coughing and the next. When her gut-wrenching howls subsided into wheezing
screams, he leaned over her and penetrated her torn and distended sex, from
above, with a enraptured expression on his swarthy visage as each thrust
wrenched new howls of maddened agony from Kayleen's devastated throat.
When he was done, Kayleen hung in utter pain, her body wracked by spasms as
rivulets of blood coursed down her shaking chest. He used the pliers to clip
her wounds, smiling as this ministration intended to staunch blood loss caused
her to howl with new pain, then rested the dull blade on her clitoris,
savoring her cries of dread and despair. He bid his time until her voice
waned, then started digging with both blades, rekindling the flames of
previous hellish agonies and slowly protracted her torment as long as he
could, while her body trashed in her restraints and her howls of unprecedented
agony echoed under the vaults of the torture chamber.
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